


make me part of your atmosphere

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Boys In Love, F/M, M/M, Misunderstanding, Silly Boys, Stiles is ridic, Stupid Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson, Danny thinks, is actually sort of beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	make me part of your atmosphere

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost, I took down the original posting because of some formatting issues, and I wanted to get this looked over. Thank you to Amanda for braving a couple you didn't really ship! 
> 
> I hope everyone likes this! I added in some Derek/Stiles and Scott/Allison because I couldn't help myself. :3

Danny thinks Jackson is actually kind of beautiful.   
  
Not because he’s gorgeous–which is painfully obvious and just as painfully doing a number on his self-esteem–but because of everything else that makes Jackson, well,  Jackson . The way that he smirks at McCall now when he does something ridiculous on the field, acrobatic and bendy (Danny still doesn’t understand how McCall can do this after being cursed to a life of geeking out with Stilinski just a few months prior, but maybe it’s one of those cases where late-sprouting puberty does more good than bad), how he still tucks loose strands of hair behind Lydia’s ear, even though they don’t fuck secretly in the teacher’s lounge bathroom anymore.   
  
But mostly it’s in the way that Jackson isn’t even aware of it. He’s aware that he’s appealing–someone with his bone structure just couldn’t  not be–but he doesn’t actively recognize it. It’s something that’s thrown Danny for a loop for years, makes him think that Jackson isn’t as deep-seated in popularity as he likes to make everyone think.   
  
Danny doesn’t just tell anyone this, of course, because that’s his best friend, his straight-as-a-nail best friend who would possibly castrate him if he even mentioned something inching toward a bundle of huge-and-blatantly-homosexual feelings for said best friend.   
  
Jackson’s undoubtedly cool about the whole gay thing, but Danny doesn’t think the kindness would extend if Jackson knew  just how close those feelings ran. Most of the time it doesn’t bother him, and he can shove it all down underneath his schoolwork and lacrosse practice, but sometimes it creeps up on him.   
  
It usually creeps up on him when he and Jackson are alone. Like right now, how they’re in Jackson’s backyard practicing lacrosse, and Jackson has this dorky grin on his face that he doesn’t let anyone else see but Danny. It makes him feel all flustered inside, like Jackson’s doing his part in tearing Danny apart again, piece by fucking piece.   
  
“Dude,” Jackson accuses, “I totally slid that one past you!”   
  
Danny smiles, because he did, even if he didn’t notice it. “Sorry,” he apologizes.   
  
Jackson shrugs, easy and free in a way that Danny’s never seen him before.   
  
There’s something different about Jackson now, something that Danny can’t really put a finger on. It happened almost immediately after Peter Hale died– Peter Hale who, thank god, Danny never actually  met , but has heard enough stories about from Stilinski and Jackson alone to make it seem like he had–but Danny doesn’t pay attention to it. Jackson was there that night at the school. The night that Jackson has since told him was Peter being a fucking nutcase, and when he actually died, well. There’s something about a guy brutally dying in front of you that makes something inside of you change.   
  
Danny isn’t entirely convinced it’s supposed to have the effect it’s had on Jackson, but hey, his best friend is fine and is smiling more, and that’s really all Danny cares about.   
  
There’s also the fact that Lydia woke up a few days ago. They’re not dating anymore, but there’s always going to be a part of Jackson that cares about her, a piece of him will always lay with her. Danny’s hated her for it for a while, has always seethed in jealousy next to Jackson, watching Jackson fall over for her like a puppy while she played with his strings.   
  
But that’s over now, and Jackson’s fine, and Lydia’s fine, which is all that really matters.   
  
“You’re totally spacey today, man,” Jackson says.    
  
Danny shrugs, throwing a sheepish smile at him. “Sorry,” he repeats. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”   
  
Jackson raises an eyebrow. It’s a fact well known in their friendship that Danny loves sleep almost as much as he loves veggie delight subs from Subway. “What? Do you know why?”   
  
Danny shrugs. “We graduate in a few weeks, man, I’m just–” Danny’s going to hate himself for admitting this, because even if it’s generally accepted for males to have feelings–especially a completely out-of-the-closest guy like Danny–their relationship isn’t exactly built around forthcoming sharing-time fests.    
  
Jackson’s emotionally stilted, has always been emotionally stilted in a way that makes Danny  ache . There’s so much that goes on in Jackson’s head and no matter how well he tries to hide it from Danny, he can’t. It makes Danny feel lost inside, like maybe Jackson needs someone less emotionally inept because there are serious problems underlying the person who is Jackson Whittemore, but Jackson still comes over Danny’s house every Saturday for their weekly Pizza Sundays, hung-over and strung out. Danny’s pretty sure he’s the only one that Jackson has ever let see his secret comic book collection from when he was a kid, too, so that always makes Danny feel a little less guilty.   
  
The worst part of it all, is that no one else notices. No one notices how sometimes Jackson will walk down the halls with clenched fists and a sour expression–but it’s not like Jackson is particularly smiley in the first place, either. Nobody notices how Jackson’s perfect life and his perfect car and his perfect pretty face aren’t actually really that perfect.   
  
But that’s okay, Danny supposes.   
  
He’s always there to notice what no one else can.   
  
“Danny?” Jackson asks.   
  
Oh.   
  
Right.   
  
“I’m just–our lives are going to change, you know? We won’t have to put up with Coach Finstock and his stupid-hour-o’clock practices on Saturdays anymore.”   
  
Jackson laughs, a sound that goes straight to the middle of Danny’s stomach. He’s been laughing more, too, like he’s allowing himself to think of things as funny, allowing himself to finally  feel . “Yeah,” Jackson says. “I know what you mean. I’m not sure how ready I am for that.”   
  
Danny smiles, though it feels kind of sad. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Me neither.”   
  
*   
  
Jackson stops by his house a few days before graduation.   
  
Danny isn’t expecting it, but his brother’s knocking down his door with a simple “Whittemore’s here” and then suddenly Jackson’s in his room.   
  
His face is all wrong–not aesthetically, thank god, Danny doesn’t think anything could ever be wrong with Jackson’s face in that way–contorted and twisted in a way that Danny hasn’t seen since that one night Jackson got drunk on Danny’s father’s cheap liquor and told Danny everything. He told Danny how the pressure to be perfect and to be deserving of the family that adopted him (because he wasn’t deserving of his real family) literally tore him to pieces sometimes. How Lydia fed off of his depression and panic and made something fun of it. He told Danny how Danny was the only one who ever really understood him, who never said the wrong things and has never once looked down on him for anything.   
  
Jackson promptly passed out after that, with Danny’s fingers petting through his hair.   
  
They don’t talk about that night, haven’t since, but it’s a night that Danny thinks about all of the time.   
  
“What’s wrong?” Danny asks, the panic and worry rising up in his chest, but it’s something he forces down. He struggles to keep his voice even, and thinks he mostly succeeds because Jackson doesn’t wince.   
  
He’d usually wince.   
  
But Jackson isn’t his usual self today, so Danny doesn’t really know.   
  
Jackson looks between Danny and a spot behind Danny’s shoulder. “I need to tell you something.”   
  
Danny raises an eyebrow, mentally patting himself on the back for not freaking out about this, because usually when Jackson has something to talk about, it’s almost always bad.    
  
It almost always means Jackson’s in some sort of danger.   
  
“What is it?”   
  
“I think–you should–Danny,” Jackson tries again, and then sighs. “You should probably sit down for this.”   
  
Danny does, because he’s learned with Jackson, efficiency and speed are the surefire way of getting him to talk.   
  
“I’m sitting,” Danny says, though he knows he doesn’t have to.   
  
Maybe verbal cues will get Jackson to talk faster.   
  
(They do.)   
  
“You’re so going to hate me for this,” Jackson says, and Danny’s heart falters in his chest.   
  
“Jack–” He starts, because he’s assuming the worst right now, “it’s not drugs, is it?”   
  
It’s stupid, and Danny knows it’s stupid because he’s not a  moron . But it’s always something they’ve had an agreement on. It started when Danny was eight and he just moved here, when Jackson was the first boy to come up to him in Ms. Harper’s class and said, “I’m Jackson, but call me Whittemore”–he had a fixation with last names, even then–“you seem cool. Wanna share lunches?” (Now, Danny knows he offered because Danny was the only kid who showed up to school that day without a lunch, without any change in his pocket, but then, then, all Danny cared about was how he was making a new friend, a friend with  string cheese ).    
  
Jackson scoffs. “Danny–come on. You know me. I wouldn’t–”   
  
“I know,” Danny says, because he does. He just–he had to make  sure .   
  
“I’ve been hanging out with Hale recently,” he says, and then wrinkles his nose, like it pains him to admit it. “And McCall. Even Stilinski.”   
  
Danny raises an eyebrow. “Okay?” He asks, because while Jackson hasn’t been exactly quiet about his hatred and disgust toward them, it’s nothing that Danny would  ruin a friendship over , jesus.    
  
Jackson lays a hand on his shoulder. “We have these weekly meetings,” Jackson says, “on Thursdays. You should come with me.”   
  
“I don’t know if I could handle that much time around Stilinski,” Danny says, but he’s joking. Mostly.   
  
Jackson shrugs. “He’s not so bad when you get to know him.”   
  
Okay, yeah, Danny might actually gape at him a bit. “ Stilinski? ”   
  
“Danny–just, come, okay?” he asks, and Danny must still look skeptical because he adds on, “Please?”   
  
Danny has never been very good at saying no to Jackson, especially not like this.   
  
“Okay,” Danny says, “okay. I’ll go.”   
  
*   
  
Danny isn’t sure what he expected exactly, maybe them sitting around in an obscure coffee shop somewhere, but gathering around on the three lone couches in the burnt-to-a-crisp Hale family house definitely  isn’t .    
  
Derek is there. It’s not like Danny hasn’t known that Derek wasn’t Stiles’ cousin for a while- seeing them both pressed up against one another with Derek running his fingers down Stiles’ arm and Stiles cuddled up close makes something difficult and uneasy set in his stomach. Nothing too bad, of course, but it still makes Danny wonder how anyone could willingly put up with Stiles for that long.   
  
Jackson is looking between him and the rest of the group, eyes prancing around nervously, like he has something that he wants to say but has no idea how to say it. McCall and Allison are too busy wrapped up in each other, whispering into each other’s ears and making Danny sick for an entirely different reason. At least Derek and Stiles are  somewhat discreet.   
  
“Dude,” Stiles says, head pillowed on Derek’s arm. “Just tell him already.”   
  
Jackson throws a glare in Stiles’ direction. “Shut up!”   
  
“That’s the whole reason you brought him here, isn’t it? So he knows the truth?” Stiles asks, and Danny doesn’t have to look at Jackson to know that’s the reason. Danny’s known for a while that Jackson’s been hiding something from him, but he’s never really focused on it. Somehow, he’s always known that Jackson would eventually tell him everything. “You prolonging the inevitable isn’t helping anything. I can practically  smell your panic and I’m not even a–”   
  
Derek slaps him upside the head. “Stiles,  shut up .” He growls–literally  growls ; Danny had no idea a person could actually  do that. “Let Jackson talk.”   
  
Danny turns expectantly to Jackson, trying to make his eyes soft, because he knows how horrible Jackson does under pressure.   
  
“There’s–uh, been some changes, recently,” Jackson starts.   
  
Danny snorts, “I can see that,” he says, because it’s not like the fact that Jackson willingly spends free time with people he used to hate is expected or anything.   
  
“Uhm,” Jackson says, and looks over Danny’s shoulder at Derek, probably for help. “Some big,  monster changes.”   
  
“Jackson,” Danny says, “I’m not quite following you here.”   
  
“This isn’t working,” Jackson complains, which is obvious, but Danny doesn’t say anything.   
  
“Show him,” Stiles says, the one full of ideas today.   
  
Danny still doesn’t know if what he feels for Stiles is begrudging acceptance or blinding hatred, or maybe it’s something caught in between.    
  
Jackson actually doesn’t look too put off by the idea, simply nods his head once, slowly, and then starts doing it more enthusiastically. “Just–just try not to freak out, okay?”   
  
Danny swallows. “Alright.”   
  
Danny stands there, eyes on Jackson as he strips off his shirt. He feels protests start up in his throat, and he can’t help but say, “Jackson, I’ve seen you shirtless plenty of times–this isn’t anything new–”   
  
Stiles wolf whistles.    
  
Jackson glares.   
  
“Just trust me,” Jackson says, making sure he has Danny’s attention again.   
  
A few seconds later and Jackson starts changing. At first, they’re minute changes other people probably wouldn’t notice if they weren’t actively watching for something. Jackson’s hair gets a couple of inches longer, the facial hair that he keeps so closely shaved starts sprouting a bit, especially around his sideburns, his face gets a little more...wolfy. But it’s still Jackson–that much is obvious–and Danny thinks vaguely that it’s the only reason he’s not freaking out.   
  
Finding out your best friend is a werewolf–and he’s so obviously a werewolf, now–is the type of life changing experience where emotional reaction is probably expected. But Danny’s just staring at Jackson like he doesn’t really know what to make of him, because he doesn’t.   
  
“Lycanthropy,” Danny says. “You suffer from lycanthropy?”   
  
Jackson thankfully has the right mind enough to look kind of sheepish, because suddenly suffering from lycanthropy? That’s something you tell your best friend. “I was going to tell you sooner, Danny, but–I just, couldn’t, alright?”   
  
“How long?”   
  
“A few months–since, after Peter Hale died.”   
  
Danny doesn’t know what to do with this kind of information. “Peter Hale–” He turns around to Derek, because Derek is the type to answer you regardless–or at least he seems like it. Danny wouldn’t know, he didn’t talk much the one time they met. Granted, he was pretending to be Stiles’ Hispanic, barely-able-to-speak-english cousin, but. “He was your uncle.”   
  
“Yes,” Derek says, Stiles still leeching onto his side.   
  
“Was he–did he suffer from lycanthropy?”   
  
“Werewolf,” Derek says, and Danny flinches, because that makes his best friend sound like a monster. “He was a werewolf. And so am I. So is Jackson. And Scott.”   
  
Danny blinks. “How?”   
  
Derek looks over to Jackson, who must silently nod, and continues, “I’m a werewolf by birth. My uncle, when he became Alpha, bit Scott out of necessity. Jackson–”   
  
“I asked,” Jackson blurts, and Danny whirls on him.  Who would ask to become a monster?  “I asked Derek to bite me. He gave me all of the facts. He let me know what I would be getting into before I got into it–”   
  
“You let him. . .” Danny trails off, and his face must contort because Jackson makes this panicked whine in his throat. “Why?”   
  
Jackson shrugs, and then looks at Danny like he’s killing him. Danny knows–realistically, of course–that Jackson doesn’t like talking about his feelings, especially in front of people that aren’t Danny. Danny thinks it might be because Jackson thinks he has this image to keep up, where he’s the popular, smarter-than-he-looks jock who has the beautiful girlfriend and the expensive car. Danny knows though, has known, that Jackson isn’t  that guy.   
  
“I wanted to be perfect,” Jackson says eventually.   
  
“And you thought that being a werewolf–” Danny flinches here without meaning to, “–would bring you that? Perfection, I mean.”   
  
Jackson doesn’t say anything, but how he won’t meet his eyes says it all.   
  
“Excuse us,” Danny says, even though he knows Derek and Scott can probably hear them anyway, no matter where they go. He’s under no impression that they don’t have dog-like hearing.   
  
When they’re alone, locked inside one of the bedrooms in the Hale family house that isn’t completely destroyed, Danny looks at Jackson, who looks like he’s ready to flee at any given moment. Like Danny’s going to yell at him, fight with him. It jarrs him, makes Danny think that maybe he’s not looking at this from the right angle. He’s not Jackson, after all, and while he can’t picture why Jackson would want to become a werewolf, someone that struggles with anger and the moon cycles–when Jackson already has so much emotion going on beneath the surface, when he fights off depression and anger; remorse–it wasn’t his decision. 

  
He trusts Derek, or at least (it really is unhealthy to trust a suspected murderer–though that was explained anyway–but hey, Danny isn’t always known for his smart decisions) he trusts Derek enough to know that he wouldn’t willingly change someone unless he knew that it was good for them. Jackson seems calmer now; happier. He seems like he carries less weight, and Danny still doesn’t understand how being a werewolf equates to happiness, but hey, his best friend is  fine .   
  
That’s all Danny cares about.   
  
Danny cracks a smile. “Stop looking at me like I’m going to eat you,” he says.   
  
Jackson chokes. “ What ?”   
  
“Jackson,” Danny says, “I’m not going to yell at you.”   
  
“You’re not?”   
  
“No,” Danny replies, “I should–I really,  really should, but I’m not going to.”   
  
“Oh,” Jackson whispers.   
  
“You should’ve told me,” Danny repeats.    
  
“I know,” Jackson says, and then, always quick to defend himself, says, “You know I wanted to. I–”   
  
“I know,” Danny says. “I know why you didn’t. I just wish you hadn’t listened to that part of yourself. You–” Danny sighs, and then looks down. “You’re always going to be my best friend, Jackson. You suddenly sprouting hair and claws once a month isn’t going to change that.”   
  
Jackson doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move, and that makes Danny look up, makes him eye Jackson critically, because Jackson  has to know that.   
  
“You do know that, don’t you?”    
  
Jackson shrugs. “Everybody leaves,” he says. “My parents did, Lydia did, I–”   
  
“No,” Danny says, and then gives in to the urge to reach out with a hand to grasp Jackson’s shoulder tightly. They’re not the type to get caught up in feelings, but Danny doesn’t think about that now, can’t think about that now. All he sees is Jackson and how hurt he is inside.   
  
Danny, well, Danny just wants to fix it.    
  
He feels awkward and coiled inside, like a spring waiting to burst. It’s how he always feels around Jackson, how he’s felt around him since he was fourteen and realized that he liked looking at Johnny Depp’s ass more than Jennifer Lopez’s; when he started seeing Jackson as more than just a friend, as someone that Danny could see himself being  serious with.   
  
Danny’s never felt that way about anyone.    
  
Not even one of his previous boyfriends.   
  
“Jackson,” Danny murmurs, “you mean everything to me.”    
  
Danny can’t believe he just said that.   
  
“I can’t believe I just said that,” Danny laughs, self-deprecating.    
  
Jackson looks–shocked. “You–you  meant that.”   
  
Danny raises an eyebrow. “Can you tell when I’m lying?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
Danny doesn’t know what to say.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Danny says eventually, because Jackson’s still staring at him, and it’s making Danny feel nervous and worn. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like–”   
  
And then Danny can’t talk anymore, because Jackson’s  lips are on his.   
  
Danny immediately responds, because his body is thankfully smarter than his brain and knows that when someone that you may or may not have been in love with for the better half of four years kisses you, you  normally kiss them back. He pushes back, lets his lips fall open against Jackson’s, who is still hesitant and unsure, but at least he hasn’t pulled away yet.   
  
Danny doesn’t know if this is one of those ‘try it before you croak’ kind of things, and even if it is, Danny knows he doesn’t mind. He’s willing to accept any form of relationship with Jackson that the other is willing to offer.    
  
Before the kiss can get any more heated, Jackson pulls away, face blank as ever.    
  
“I had to do that,” Jackson whispers. “I couldn’t not anymore.”   
  
“ What ?” Danny asks, because  what .   
  
“I–” Jackson says, and then chuckles kind of darkly. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now.”   
  
Danny doesn’t believe that.   
  
“I don’t believe that,” he says.   
  
“It started happening after you started dating Tyler,” Jackson whispers. “I noticed I would get jealous–and it wasn’t anything I’ve ever experienced before. I–I’ve been trying to ignore it since then. Push it away.”   
  
“I wouldn’t have turned you away,” Danny whispers.   
  
Jackson smiles, slightly. “I know.”   
  
“I’ve always noticed,” Jackson adds on, soft and close, suddenly. Danny pulls him in that few extra inches, lets their hips rest up together even if sex is the last thing on his mind.   
  
He resists the urge to hide his face in Jackson’s shoulder, because that’s just embarrassing. He had really thought he kept his unrequited feelings to himself pretty well, but leave it to Jackson to notice everything going on with Danny. He always has; Danny should’ve known not to believe that his observational skills were only one-sided. “Really?”   
  
“Yeah,” Jackson says, “I’m sorry, by the way. If I hadn’t been so deep-seated in my fear of my huge gay epiphany, this probably would’ve happened sooner.”   
  
And Danny smiles, big and open and intimate, just between the two of them. The fact that Derek and Stiles and Scott and Allison are all there doesn’t even matter, because Danny doesn’t even notice them anymore; has never really noticed them the way that he’s always noticed Jackson.   
  
“That’s okay,” Danny says, because it is, it  really  is. “You’re here now,” he whispers, and the last few words fall against Jackson’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from 'The Pocket' by Andy Grammer, though it's edited a bit.


End file.
